


Day 3: Fog

by GemmaRose



Series: Voltron Angst Week [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, i guess?, idek what this is just take it, its for angst week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: He should know that sound, but his thoughts are so slow and muddled...





	Day 3: Fog

Everything hurt. Everything hurt, but especially his stomach, which felt like he’d just gotten sucker-punched by a pissed off Hunk. He flexed his fingers, and groaned as that aggravated whatever injuries were covering his hands. His head ached, but it was a dull throb, like somebody was tapping rhythmically on his skull through layers and layers of gauze. His eyelids felt heavy, and something pricked at the side of his neck as he managed to get them open a sliver.

The light above him was bright, painfully so, and he shut his eyes as he turned his head away. The pain was fading, but now his head felt like it had been stuffed with the type of fluff that went in pillows and stuffed animals. Everything seemed slow, his fingers and toes tingling with numbness. There was a faint sound, or not really a sound but a suggestion of a sound. Like a roar, but also the sound of a campfire. It was a good sound, comforting, warm. His mouth might have pulled up in a grin, but he couldn’t feel his face too well so he wasn’t sure.

Opening his eyes again took even more effort than it had before, and once he got his eyelids peeled up he stared blankly at the colours and shapes in front of him. Everything was blurry, fuzzy, but after a while of staring the scene before him resolved itself. There were arms reaching over him, covered by pale blue-ish sleeves. There was a pile of white and red stuff in the corner, with a rumpled bundle of dark on top of it. He felt like he should recognize it, but the fluff in his head had melted into a murky fog which made it hard to think straight or remember much of anything.

The arms were moving, and Keith turned his head slowly to look up at whoever they were attached to. The person must’ve been wearing a mask, because their face looked really weird. Not-human weird, with orange-brown skin and deep creases running up and down the whole thing. Where hair should be they had dull grey-green tendrils, and Keith might have giggled at the sight. They looked like a pumpkin. He wasn’t entirely sure what a pumpkin was at the moment, but he was sure this guy looked like one.

“He’s awake.” a voice hissed from behind his head, and he tried to turn to look at it. There was a bright light over him that hurt to look at, so he let his eyes slide shut as he turned past it.

“Don’t worry.” said another voice, from behind him again. “With the restraints aand anaesthesia, he won’t be able to do much.”

“He’s already turning his head.” the first voice hissed as he started prying his eyes open. Why were they so heavy? He wanted to see what was happening, not go to sleep. “We should give him another dose.”

Were they talking about him? Keith tried to open his mouth, but his lips seemed glued shut and his tongue felt so thick and heavy in his mouth he doubted he could’ve spoken anyways. He maneged to get one eye open, then the other, and saw another pumpkin-head with a pale blue shirt.

“Agreed.” said a voice from behind him, and Keith started to turn his head. Ouch, bright light. He shut his eyes, and let his head fall to the side. His head felt so heavy, and his neck ached from trying to move it. “Give him-” the voice seemed to fizzle into musical notes for a second, then something was pricking at the back of his neck.

“There w-” the voice from behind him faded into something like music, and he tried to turn his head to look but it was just so heavy. His entire body felt heavy where it wasn’t numb, and his eyelids slid shut. The not-quite-a-noise came again, dampened even more by the fog, and he struggled to open his eyes. He wanted- no, he _needed_ to find the source of that sound. It came again, even softer, and he managed to pry one of his eyelids open and stare up at the pumpkin-head over him.

It made a musical sound, and brushed a gloved hand over his face. With his eyes shut, and the crackling roar naught but a distant echo, oblivion quickly claimed him.


End file.
